


Dreamcatcher

by MysticPuma



Series: Sherlock One-shots [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Deductions, Dreams, M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:06:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticPuma/pseuds/MysticPuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John keeps having nightmares… Sherlock vows to find a way to help him. An anonymous fanfiction.net request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamcatcher

At first, Sherlock ignored the many times he would hear John sit bolt upright in bed, or the times he would toss and turn. The creaks were bearable.

He managed to ignore the occasional scream, when he knew John was reliving a particularly violent part of his service in Afghanistan. In fact, he managed to ignore all of this for well over 6 months, which he was rather proud of, considering his finely tuned attention to detail.

After that, it slowly got more and more annoying, and the nights he actually tried to sleep, he was often unsuccessful, because all he could hear was John struggling with his nightmares. The days and weeks began to blur, until finally, in a fit of exhaustion, he burst…

"Goodnight Sherlock." John muttered.

"Hmph…" was all he could muster. He had to keep his brain occupied, lest it fall to the state normal people held, so he was experimenting.

"Sherlock?" John knew better than to disturb his friend while he was experimenting, but he had sensed agitation in Sherlock's reply, if it could be called that, and some strange masochistic part of him wanted to know what he'd done.

"Just don't worry about disturbing me." Sherlock spat sarcastically, not even looking up from the tortured lung he had before him. When John didn't react, Sherlock elaborated. "Just don't mind how I won't be able to sleep again…"

"What? Is something wrong, Sherlock?" John, clueless and ever, prompted.

"You, John! Your damned war-nightmares! You keep me awake all night with your tossing and turning! I haven't slept in months… I may never usually wish to waste my precious time on such trivial matters, but my brain is suffering from the lack of rest… My work will suffer, and as you well know that is the only thing that matters!" with his rant over, Sherlock returned to his lung, but was devastated and enraged to find the experiment ruined because he had taken his eyes off it. "DAMN!" he cried, throwing the already severely abused organ at the wall. John simply stared, before fleeing the room in silence. He could only hope Sherlock was in a better mood the next morning.

He wasn't… In fact, if it were possible, he was in an even worse mood. They said nothing to each other, and John left for work feeling particularly crap.

When he returned, Sherlock was asleep on the sofa. Sherlock never slept in the day… Even with the lack of sleep, surely he wouldn't willingly… But John saw the book discarded on the floor, inches from his hand. Of course… Sherlock's mind had forced him to sleep.

John sat down and watched Sherlock sleeping, his face tranquil and peaceful, and John immediately felt a horrid pang in his chest. Guilt. He was stopping Sherlock from sleeping. Sherlock, the one that didn't even care for sleep in the slightest. John sighed, resolving to go and make himself a cup of tea. Tea always made him feel better.

He waited patiently for Sherlock to wake up, so he could apologise, but he felt his consciousness slipping, as darkness enveloped him…

Sherlock awoke feeling refreshed for the first time in weeks, and with that came a clearer head. As he sat up, he saw John was sprawled gracelessly in his armchair, sound asleep. It seemed that for the first time, he was sleeping rather soundly, with little or no trace of nightmares. Sherlock couldn't help but smile a little and the peace and calm on John's face. The wrinkles of stress that usually plagued his forehead had smoothed out and a light smile graced his lips.

Sherlock leant down to whisper softly into his friend's ear.

"I'm sorry, John. I should never have snapped. You need sleep far more than I." and he gently picked John up out of the chair, and took him up the stairs to his own bed, tucking him in carefully. "I'll find a way make the nightmares stop… For your sake." He said, as though making a promise. He then turned and left John to sleep.

As John slept, Sherlock researched. He help little faith in many of the methods, however one jumped out at him as something that, although it could in no way be real, it may provide enough psychological evidence to at least allow John to believe it. And if John believed it, there a chance that it might work.

Sherlock swept from the flat just as John sat bold upright in his bed, having suffered another nightmare. Wait… I'm in my bed? How did that happen? He thought, but he ignored it, since he felt a lot less tired than usual. Had he actually been sleeping peacefully before the nightmare? When had he fallen asleep? How did he get in bed? Questions buzzed in his mind, but he tried to ignore them.

He sighed, eventually rolling out of bed. He didn't want to try sleeping again, at the risk of another nightmare. So yet again… he made tea.

He was half-way through his cup, when he heard the door downstairs, and up the stairs bounded Sherlock.

"Oh! You're awake!" he exclaimed.

"I had another nightmare." John muttered.

"Oh… But you were so peaceful when I carried you up to your room…" he said, a little sad. John didn't really notice that though, as he turned bright red.

"You… you carried me?!" he cried.

"Yes… I thought you might hurt yourself if you stayed in the chair."

"Why do you care?" John muttered, remembering how Sherlock had yelled before.

"Forgive me, I never meant to upset you before. I was simply tired."

"How did – oh, never mind…"

"Here." Sherlock said quietly, thrusting a small box at John. It was brown and plain, but wooden; obviously not cheap…

"What's this?"

"For you… I hoped it might stave off the nightmares. Not for my sake, for yours… You've been quite tired of late." Sherlock explained. John frowned.

"Are you okay, Sherlock? You're being terribly nice. Or am I dreaming?"

"Honestly, John. I am simply concerned for your well-being. What is so hard to believe about that?"

"Everything…"

"Just open the box."

John did as he was told, and gently prised the lid off. Beneath the tissue was a small widen dream-catcher. It was made of a beautiful dark brown wood, one that John couldn't help but compare to Sherlock's hair. Hanging from the circle of wood was a collection of beautiful brown and white feathers, and small brown beads at the top of each.

"A… Dream catcher?"

"Yes, John… Surely that much is obvious."

"W-well… Of course but – wait, how much was this?"

"Does that really matter?"

"Well… I don't want you to spend money on me."

"Money is inconsequential, John." Sherlock muttered. John said nothing more on the subject, as Sherlock had left before he could…

He hung the dream catcher on his head-board that night, and went to sleep, hopeful.

The next morning, John was already awake when Sherlock came out of his room.

"John?"

"It didn't work…" John muttered sadly. Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"Hm… I felt certain the superstitions surrounding the strange item would be enough… It seems I was wrong." He was clearly ruffled by that fact. "This warrants further research." He muttered.

"All this so I don't disturb you?" John muttered under this breath. Sherlock's head snapped to look at his flatmate. "W-what?"

"You think I'm doing this for me?"

"Well… Of course."

"John, your faith in my capacity as a friend is much less than I had really hoped…" Sherlock grumbled.

"Oh… You mean…" John trailed off.

"Yes, John. I am doing this for your benefit. Not mine." And John couldn't help but smile a little. Sherlock returned it as he pulled his laptop onto his knee and began researching again.

John still had to go to work, so he left Sherlock with the command to eat something later.

When he returned, Sherlock had barely moved, still sat in exactly the same position, and still researching. John stopped in the doorway.

"Sherlock…" he muttered, his exhaustion not permitting him anything more energetic. When he got no response, he moved over and tapped Sherlock on the shoulder. The detective looked over to him. "Have you eaten?" Sherlock just shook his head and returned to his research. "Oh, Sherlock…"

John made Sherlock some toast, and a cup of tea for them both. "Here, eat it." He said. Sherlock looked up. However, he made no move to take the toast. "Sherlock, you're doing this research for me right?"

"Yes." Sherlock said, without moving.

"Well, think of this as me paying back the favour by making sure you don't starve…" he explained. Sherlock sighed in defeat, taking the toast. John smiled. Sherlock was done quickly and was soon back to researching, but at least he'd eaten it.

John sank gratefully into his chair, glad for the rest, and he was soon asleep. Sherlock looked up for a moment, noticing the change in John's pattern of breathing. He seemed calm, so he continued researching. He only looked up again when John's breathing became erratic. Another nightmare.

Sherlock stood and went over to his friend, studying his tortured expression, wishing desperately that he could find some way of making it all go away.

"I will stop these nightmares, John… I swear." He said, determinedly, placing his hand atop John's gently. Immediately, the tortured expression on John's face seemed to melt away, replaced by a serenity and calm Sherlock hadn't seen on John's face before. Sherlock frowned, and removed his hand experimentally. The expression returned full force. Sherlock eyes widened in revelation as he replaced his hand and John calmed again. He couldn't help but smile at the sudden, wonderful breakthrough, but now he had a new problem… How to put it into action.

"Hm… Is that too odd? Will you be angry if I do that, John?" he asked his flatmate vaguely, not actually saying what he was referring to. "Well… You can't sleep here, either way… And if you're alone, you'll simply have another nightmare. It seems I have no other choice." He whispered serenely, with a gentle smile. "I'll just have to be your dream catcher instead." He stroked a stray strand of John's hair out of his eye, before carefully lifting him out of the chair and carrying him to the only double bed in the flat… Sherlock's.

Setting him down and pulling one side of the covers over him, Sherlock then went to the other side and crawled in next to John, pulling the covers up, and wrapping his gangly arms protectively around his sleeping blogger.

For a moment, he tried to picture John's reaction when he awake beside the detective, and the extensive amount of possibilities eventually had the effect of counting sheep, and he drifted quietly into a dreamless sleep himself, warm and cosy beside John.

John could feel warmth cocooning his body. It was only a vague sensation due to the massive cloud that his tired body was hindering his every sense with, but it was there. He noticed that for the first time in a very long while, he felt completely rested. Not only that, but there was no aftermath from a terrifying nightmare. No echoing shouts or screams. No ghosting pain from an imaginary wound… He couldn't help smiling contentedly at the feeling, which was something he'd never thought he'd feel again.

Slowly, though, his body and mind began to wake up, gaining clarity with every passing moment, and he first noticed that the warmth was primarily coming from behind him. The second thing he noticed, were the thin arms that encircles him, and the hands tightly clasped together at his stomach. He knew those hands. Those hands could only belong to one person, and looking at them, bleary-eyed though John was, his heart leapt with a sickening force… They were Sherlock's hands. Sherlock was behind him; Sherlock was the warmth… As it began to register with him, John's body revolted again the shock unexpected contact, jumping a little as he sat upright and huddled to the other side of the bed. A small part of him regretted this action immediately though, as the warmth was torn away from him… And then another part of him also regretted it, quite a bit more, as he watched Sherlock startle awake, and he was overcome with guilt. Thankfully, though, that feeling dissipated when Sherlock spoke.

"Ah, good morning John. I see that possible reaction number twenty-four came true, then." The sleepy detective mumbled, with a small smirk.

"T-twenty-four?" John stammered, his eyes wide.

"Oh, there were lots more. I didn't even get through all of them before I got to sleep!" Sherlock announced. John simply stared at him. "So… You have questions, I assume." Sherlock said calmly, propping himself up on one elbow, and resting his head against his palm patiently.

"Well… I think the biggest one is… Why the hell am I in your bed?"

"It's the only double. Next." He muttered with a wave of his hand.

"Um… Why were you hugging me?"

"It's simply the most effective way of ensuring contact is kept throughout the night."

"WHY!?" John finally exploded.

"Well, it seemed that since your dream catcher didn't work, I had to find another way to stave off your nightmares. When I picked you up to move you from the chair, it seemed that contact with me was capable of stopping the dreams, so therefore the logical solution was continual contact through the night. Quite simple really." He explained. For a moment, John couldn't react, and Sherlock just waited for him to speak.

"This… Was to stop my nightmares?" he finally muttered slowly, trying to let it sink in.

"Yes."

"But… why?" John frowned. "Was I disturbing you? If I was, I'm sorry…"

"No, John. I've said before. I wanted to stop them for your sake. Perhaps it comes as a bit of a surprise to you, but I do care for you."

"Oh… Then, I wasn't disturbing you?"

"No! Well… Yes, of course. But that wasn't why I wanted to stop them. It… It hurt me to see you so tired. The feeling may be new to me… But it is recognisable."

"Well… Thank you, I guess. But…"

"What?"

"It's a bit of an awkward solution, isn't it?" John muttered, failing miserably to stop the slight blush that suddenly insisted on colouring his cheeks. Sherlock shrugged.

"I don't believe so." He said. "Why? Do you find sleeping in the same bed as me odd?"

John started. "Yes! Especially when you say it like that!"

Sherlock couldn't help but smirk. This seemed to be revealing more and more interesting information.

"Do you have any better suggestions?"

"W-well, maybe I didn't give the dream catcher enough of a chance…!"

"John, if the superstition hasn't worked already, it won't work now. Trust me." Sherlock muttered.

"I-… I have nothing then."

"There you go then… What exactly is your problem with it, hm?" his calmness was unnerving, but John tried to continue.

"I- well… I just don't feel comfortable with it."

"Would you prefer to tell me why it makes you uncomfortable, or shall I deduce it out of you?" Sherlock muttered darkly.

"Sherlock!"

"I already know, so why hide it?" Sherlock said, his confidence overflowing.

"You're bluffing! You have no idea! You're just trying to trick me!"

"John, honestly… Who are you talking to?" Sherlock asked, patronisingly.

"You don't know… You can't…" John's voice was fading, as it squeaked.

"You wish to test me?"

"I-"

"John."

"Y-yes?" and the torrent began.

"You haven't stopped blushing since you woke up. You also haven't come near me, and if I try to go near you…" he reached experimentally towards John, who immediately jerked away, nearly falling off the bed in the process, "you try to get away from me. This suggests you feel threatened by the possible revealing of an embarrassing secret, which I shall assume you've been keeping quite successfully for some time, and certainly one which I have no qualms in unearthing… Considering I have basically figured it out already." He said quickly. "So. Do you give in? Will you tell me?" he added, slower.

"No! I still think you're lying! If you know, then go ahead and say it. Get it over with."

A long silence (or at least it felt like a life-time) passed between them, John trying to avoid Sherlock's gaze, but eventually being unable to tear his eyes away from Sherlock's, as the icy blue cut through his defences, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. He shuddered.

"You have feelings for me."

John's heart stopped.

"What?" he breathed.

"I believe you heard me."

"But…"

"Am I correct?"

John remained silent for a moment, gathering the shattered remains of his thoughts.

"John?"

"Well… How di- no… I won't ask. I don't want to know."

"Okay."

"I just…" he sighed and got of the bed mechanically, turning to the door and opening it.

"John?"

"Don't. Just… Just don't."

"What is it? What's the problem?"

John paused, his fist clenching around the door-handle.

"What's. The. Problem…? WHAT'S THE PROBLEM!? REALLY, SHERLOCK!? WHAT'S THE FUCKING PROBLEM!? Do you know…? Do you realise how long I've been trying to hide my feelings? How long I have fretted over how you'd react if you ever found out!? How careful I've been!? And you just… DEDUCE it out of me as if… as if it's nothing but a fucking EQUATION! You just… you disregard me feeling as if everything can just be normal, like we can forget it. Well, it can't… I can't. I can't go on as if this hasn't happened, as if you don't know… I just… I can't take it. And you know what? If- if that means I have to suffer nightmares for the rest of my life… Then… Then so be it!" and with that he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment, Sherlock just stared at the door, shell shocked and unable to react to what had just happened. Then it dawned on him that had John been simply a spectator to that moment, he would most certainly have labelled it as 'not good'. Sherlock gulped, guilt flooding him. He had never meant to upset John.

Eventually, he managed to find some energy from somewhere, and he stood, moving out of the room. He could hear John coming down the stairs… And he had a suitcase, which he was attempting (quite futily) to carry quietly down the stairs. Sherlock stood at the bottom of the stairs to greet him.

"John. You don't have to leave."

"Wow, Sherlock. You sound even more like a robot than usual. I am leaving; you can't stop me." John said, a determined look in his eyes, which were filling with tears that John was desperately trying to suppress.

"I think I can."

"Well, why would you? How could you – oh yes, of course… You're a machine, and you don't understand how much it hurts to be in love with someone who you know will never love you back; and now that you know, it's just too difficult for me… I can't stay… I can't stay here with you… It's too painful."

"I know I can stop you leaving."

"For God's sake, Sherlock! At least make it look like you care! Make it seem like you give a fuck that I'm leaving!" The tears that had been building up in his eyes finally spilled over in a torrent of emotion. This was all his fault. If he'd just learnt to control the damn nightmares, he wouldn't have to leave! But he hadn't… He couldn't. And now he had to leave the only one who could possibly control them, the only person who could save him.

And it was tearing him apart.

Sherlock, on the other hand, stood stoic and calm, confident that John would not leave. He had a plan that was sure to work. Okay, maybe there was still a shred of doubt… But then, John had always been the one person Sherlock couldn't truly and completely figure out; hell, he'd even had his doubts about John having feeling for him, so he still couldn't be completely sure…

John looked down at his feet and tried to push past Sherlock, but it failed. Instead, he found himself in the tight grip of the skinny detective, as he was suddenly spun and slammed against the wall, staring at Sherlock, incredulous. His incredulity didn't have much of a chance though, as his mind flooded with such a mixture of emotions as he had never felt before… as Sherlock's mouth locked with his.

The first feeling, as Sherlock's lips touched his, was shock…

The second, as his tongue scraped along his bottom lip, was pleasure.

And finally, as Sherlock's tongue invaded his mouth, confusion.

He was consumed by all three at once, and he couldn't fight, couldn't reciprocate… He couldn't do anything.

After what felt like forever, Sherlock pulled away, leaving John numb and confused; lost in his emotions.

"So… Do you still wish to leave?" Sherlock said calmly, although a little breathless.

"I… Why… Why did you-?" John couldn't iterate his sentences properly.

"Is that not obvious?"

"You… Don't really make things very clear."

"I… I…" Sherlock couldn't speak now. A blush crept into his cheeks as John waited patiently, watching Sherlock carefully. Finally, the detective took a deep breath, and said very slowly: "I have feelings for you, as well."

John's heart stopped again. Sherlock seemed to read his mind.

"Yes, John. I did just say that."

"B-but…"

"I care for you, John. I don't… I don't want you to leave." He felt suddenly very exposed; he was revealing his greatest weakness, and John could destroy him now… In so many ways. But that didn't matter.

"You…?"

"Yes."

"Am I dreaming?"

"No."

"You sure?" a nervous laugh escaped John's lips. He was still against the wall, too stunned to move.

"Certain. I'm far too close for you to dream." Sherlock said, placing his arms either side of John's head and smirking. John blushed bright red, but smiled.

"You're my dream catcher…" he said, only realising afterwards just how cheesy that sounded, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind.

"Indeed. So… Do you still object to my method?" Sherlock leant in close to whisper in John's ear.

"No… No objections here." John whispered, his voice shaky.

"Good. Then I will be your dream catcher, until you tire of me."

"You'll be my dream catcher for a long time then." John said with a smile.

Sherlock smiled wryly back. "I wouldn't have it any other way." And he sealed the promise with another brain-stopping kiss.


End file.
